


Lord of the Grill

by MediumSizedEvil



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: A Heart-Warming Tale of Crazy-Prepared, A Hero Rises, Everybody Loves Jake Peralta, F/M, Found Family, from the ashes, squad goals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediumSizedEvil/pseuds/MediumSizedEvil
Summary: An epic quest. For honor. And flavor. A spiritual journey. To win the NYPD Annual Barbecue Cookout Trophy for the 99th Precinct.Jake Peralta in: Lord of the Grill.The heat is on.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52
Collections: B99 Long Reads





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No epic story would be complete without an invocation of the Muse. In this case it was the marvelous [Fielding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fielding) who lit the spark of imagination and was with me every step of the way with advice, feedback and encouragement. It's such a pleasure working with you! Also thanks to [smallblueandloud ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallblueandloud/pseuds/smallblueandloud) for the readthrough.

“Hey Jake, are you doing anything later?” Terry asked, holding a cooler.

Jake looked up from his desk. “Oh, you want me to babysit my beautiful goddaughter? She's not in there, is she?”

“No, I was wondering if you could go to the NYPD Annual Barbecue Cookout in my stead? I signed up for the Nine-Nine but now I urgently have to go to Rikers on a tip-off.”

“Why don't you ask Charles? He loves cooking!”

“Because he'd get some crazy idea on how to improve the marinade with liquorice and frog spawn or something and I just know he'd ruin it. This is quality meat, it shouldn't be wasted on gross experiments. Just put it on the grill and cook it, that's all you need to do.”

“And you desperately want me to bring home the trophy?”

“Hey, it's just a friendly competition. Just look smart and represent the Nine-Nine. That said, I almost came third last year!” He handed him the cooler. “Come on, I left the grill in my car.”

  


*

  
“So how'd it go at the Cookout, Jake?” Charles asked the next day. “I really wish I could have been there but I'd promised Genevieve I'd wash her hair.”

“Well I'm glad you weren't cause I came last.”

“No!”

“Yes. Someone distracted me with a story about a headless corpse and before I knew it all the meat was burnt to a crisp.”

“Jake, how could you!” Terry exclaimed. “That was prime beef.”

“Worse, I brought shame on the Nine-Nine. Decker from the Nine-Seven even said I should join the Fire Department because I'd make a great arsonist.”

Terry shook his head. “Well, I'll make up for it next year, and hopefully come third.”

Jake balled his fists. “No. I will win this trophy, even if it's the last thing I do!”


	2. Chapter 2

Jake had a plan. He was going to win with the best-kept secret of the old world.

“Mom, do you know what goes in Nana's famous Passover brisket marinade?” he asked the next time he went for a visit. “It always had that perfect balance between sweet and sour.”

Karen sighed. “Well I think there's onions in it, maybe garlic. But other than that? Honestly, it could be anything; brown sugar and vinegar, or maybe honey and lime juice, I have no idea. She only made it once a year, and I really wish I'd had more time to spend in the kitchen with her. Or with you.”

Jake hugged his mom. “You did a great job. Hey, do you think she might have written the recipe down somewhere?”

“Possibly. I still have most of her things boxed up in the garage. You know, I think it's time to go through them.”

After opening the boxes they sneezed at the dust, they laughed, they cried a little, and they shared many wonderful memories of Nana.

“You just got to take the sour with the sweet,” Karen sighed. “That's life.”

Finally Jake found a bunch of old cookbooks, one of them containing a stack of loose papers between the cover and the front page.

He rifled through the many hand-written notes. “Ah, this must be it! Golda's Passover Brisket. It's covered in stains so that means it was used a lot.” He anxiously deciphered the faded script. “Ketchup and Coca-Cola?” he exclaimed.

Karen shrugged. “Well, we're Americans.”  


*

  
A few weeks later Jake sat down on Charles's desk. “I have almost perfected my ketchup and Coke marinade.”

Rosa's handcuffed perp turned around. “Hey, can I get the recipe?”

“Shut up!”

Charles looked pensive. “Almost, eh? But it's still missing a certain _je ne sais quoi_?” 

“Eh, maybe? It's missing something, at least. But I don't know what.”

“Come with me.”

“Charles! I'm not going to ruin my delicious marinade with pickled armadillo testicles or something.”

“Trust me, okay?”

“All right.”

Charles led the way, and Jake followed him through a maze of crowded streets and dark alleyways.

“Ah, Chinatown!” Jake said after a while.

“No. This is Tibetown,” Charles corrected him. “It's an entirely different place. Ah, here we are now,” he said as they entered a small shop. He greeted the young girl behind the counter. She nodded and led them through a bead curtain into the back office, where an old man with a long beard and a gray robe was meditating on a bamboo mat.

He smiled at Charles and wordlessly invited them to sit down on some pillows on the floor. Then he leaned over and took a small ceramic jar from a low wooden cupboard. He passed the jar to Charles, who opened the lid and held it up to Jake's nose. “Tell me what it smells like.”

Jake took a deep breath. “A sweaty gym, ehm...ugly cheerleaders, '90s grunge bands?”

“Exactly,” Charles replied. “This spice is what the Tibetans call _sems-kyeu_ , or 'Teen Spirit.' It instantly transports you back to when you were in the prime of your life.” He took a sniff himself. “Ah, a mosquito. My libido.” He reluctantly put the jar down. “It's very rare and hard to find. But this man owes me a favor because I helped him cross the road once.”

“Eh?”

“The traffic lights were broken, and he really had to pee. But he made me swear to call in the favor one day, and I am a man of my word.”

The old man took a few grains from the jar with the point of a knife. He put them on a piece of wax paper and carefully folded it into a small package that he offered to Charles.

“For this gift I feel blessed,” Charles said, folding his hands.

The old man nodded and started speaking in Tibetan - presumably.

“It must be used sparingly,” Charles translated while handing the package to Jake. “Just a hint of nostalgia. It does not do well to dwell on the past.”

Jake folded his hands. “Thanks, Dumbledore.”

When they were standing outside Jake let out a deep sigh. “You know, you really are an amazing friend.”

“So are you, and always will until the end. Oh, one more thing.” Charles pulled a beautiful wooden spoon from his bag. “To stir your marinade. It was handcrafted by Nikolaj, especially for you, in the ancient Latvian wood carving tradition.”

“Thank you. Tell him I will stir it with pride.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Where are we going?” Jake asked Rosa. She didn't reply.

In a grimy, deserted back alley a scowling man covered in blood spatter and holding two large knives was waiting for them.

“This is my butcher,” Rosa said. “His name is Javi. He only speaks Spanish.”

She briefly talked to him, and he nodded and gave her a white plastic bag.

“This is the best beef in New York. His number's inside.”

Jake gratefully accepted the bag. “Wow, Rosa, I don't know what to say, I-”

“He's a good man. I used to help him make sausages. He gave me raw meat scraps after school.”

Jake nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

“That was too much and I already regret it.” She suddenly halted. “No, you're right. I can tell you things. You're my friend.”  
  


*

  
“Thanks for babysitting, guys,” Terry said. “We had a wonderful evening.”

“No problem,” Amy said with the biggest smile on her face.

“My goddaughter is the cutest,” Jake boasted.

“So how did dinner time go?” Terry asked. “I know the ladies can be quite picky.”

Jake nodded. “They were harsh but fair critics. The best kind.”

“But they did finish their plates,” Amy assured him. “And they even asked for seconds.”

“What!”

Sharon smiled. “Sounds like it went fine then.”

Amy grabbed her coat. “So we'll be on our way then.”

“Wrap up warm, it's really cold outside,” Sharon advised.

“Have you seen my gloves, Ames?”

“No, did you bring them?”

“I guess...oh no, I left them at home, on the balcony!”

Terry frowned. “Don't tell me you've taken up stress smoking too?”

“No! I was barbecuing. The only thing I'm smoking is red hot meat! Wait, that didn't sound right...”

“You're _still_ barbecuing?” Terry exclaimed. “In this weather?”

“Yeah, I need to work on my grill technique.”

“You're really serious about this, aren't you?”

“As serious as a heart attack from too much red meat.”

Terry paused to think. “And you're using a gas grill?”

“Yes, I borrowed an old one from the downstairs neighbor but it works all right. Mostly.”

Terry nodded slowly. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Jake followed him upstairs. They quietly tiptoed past the girls' bedrooms and climbed up a rickety ladder to the attic. Terry moved a few large suitcases out of the way before locating a big white box all the way in the back. “I think you're ready to take it to the next level,” he said while showing Jake the contents. “This is a _shichirin_ , an authentic Japanese charcoal grill from Ishikawa.”

“That is so _kawaii_!”

Terry frowned. “I don't think that means what you think it means.”

“No, it's really cute. It's a cute grill. You can say that. Look at those grates, girl!”

“Okay well, Chiaki gave it to me as a parting gift. I don't even know why I brought it back but it's just been gathering dust here in the attic. Somehow I could never bring myself to get rid of it. But at some point you just have to learn to let go, and move on. So take it, and use it well.”

“Thanks, man. I will. _Domo origami_.”  
  


*

  
“Hey son, I heard you're trying to win this barbecue contest? Well I'm the best at grilling, I can teach you so much. How about I come over and show you some neat tricks?”

“No. Bye.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jake's phone was ringing. Ugh. Old people, when will they ever learn? He ran out of the bathroom and caught it just before it went to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Hello, Jacob, this is Kevin.”

“Hi Kev, what's up?”

“I am very well, thank you. I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?”

“Uhm, shoot?”

“Would you be willing to help out with my nephew's Cub Scout troop next Saturday?”

“Ehm, sure. Except I know nothing about Scouting.”

“That's all right. As long as you can carry some boxes.”

“Yeah, I can totally do that.”

“Excellent. I'll see you at the Wolf's Den at nine then. I'll email you directions.”

That Saturday Jake managed to find his way there without a compass or a map, but with GPS. He got out of his car and waved across the parking lot. “Hi Kevin!”

“Please call me Akela,” he replied with a straight face. “And thanks for stepping in. My brother Baloo had to fly to Dubai on urgent business, and it's quite a large troop. Oh, this is my nephew Luke,” he introduced the Cub Scout next to him.

Luke and Jake helped Kevin carry some crates and boxes from his car to a large open area behind the Wolf's Den, and they grabbed some more supplies from the store room next. Meanwhile the other cubs were arriving one by one.

They all sat down in a large circle on the ground, Kevin introduced Jake to the group, and they opened the gathering with a wolf howl.

“Today we are going to learn fire craft,” Kevin explained. “Knowing how to make your own fire is an essential survival skill. If you know how to light a fire you can survive anywhere in the world.” He grabbed some wooden planks and sticks from a box and started handing them out. Jake and Luke lent a hand, and soon enough every cub had a full set of implements.

“Dion, please tie your hair back. For safety.” He showed them how to place the stick in a hole on the plank, and attach a flexible wooden bow with a piece of string to the stick. Then he moved the bow back and forth while holding the top of the stick in place. “This creates friction between the tip of the stick and the hole in the plank, like a drill. Now you need to practice with the bow to get the movement just right. Not too fast, not too slow. Follow my lead.”

This was not as easy as it looked, as Jake found out. The cubs sighed, muttered and bravely muddled along as well, struggling with their bows and sticks. 

“Keep trying, you'll get the hang of it,” Kevin encouraged them while sawing his bow to and fro like a pro. “Making fire is what distinguishes us from animals. It gives us light, warmth, and protection, and makes our food more digestible. The Ancient Greeks tell the story of the hero Prometheus, who stole fire from the Gods and gave it to humans. This important event they considered the beginning of civilization itself. Don't pick your nose, Elvis. Now Prometheus paid a terrible price for betraying the Gods, and they cast him out and sentenced him to eternal torment. But to us mortals he is a hero. He represents the thirst for knowledge and the pursuit of craftsmanship, and the selfless sharing of those gifts for the common good. There is a Prometheus in all of us. See if you can light the spark.”

His own stick had started to smoke a little at the tip, and he carefully pressed some tinder next to it and blew on it. The ember started glowing, and he quickly added some more tinder and wood shavings until a tiny flame caught hold. Then it was a matter of twigs, little sticks and slightly bigger ones until gradually a small fire appeared. Meanwhile everyone else was still cursing their bows and sticks. Kevin went round the circle and offered them all advice and encouragement.

“Look, Michael's done it. Oh, and it's out again.”

He helped to shield a nascent little fire with his hands while the cub blew on the embers until it started glowing and caught flame. This attempt proved more successful, and a real fire emerged at last. “Everyone, Justin has lit the divine spark of civilization!” They all cheered, and Justin looked rightfully proud of his achievement. Jake sighed. He'd been outdone by a little kid. Well, good practice for later, he supposed.

Kevin went back to feed his own little fire. “I know it's very frustrating, but don't be discouraged. It takes a lot of patience and perseverance. Remember, the mastery of the fire is the mastery of ourselves. We must nourish it, protect it, but always keep it under control.”

First Jake helped his neighbor Ollie shield his fire while he blew on it. Then he had to break up a fight between Noah and Finn over a twig. Then, after numerous tries, he finally managed to keep his own fire going, and he felt an immense sense of accomplishment.

Kevin slowly built up his own fire with bigger pieces of wood. “And now that you know how difficult it is to light a fire you also know how important it is to keep it burning.”

In the end they all managed to get a good fire going, even lazy Ethan, with a little help from his friends. Then they all grabbed a burning stick and brought their flames together to make a big bonfire in the middle with the rest of the wood.

“The Latin word for fireplace is _focus_ ,” Kevin explained. “It is, quite literally, the focal point of the house, where we gather to eat, drink and make merry. And to tell stories of heroes and monsters, Gods and mortals, love and war. The hearth is the heart of the home. Now I've already told you the tale of Prometheus. Who wants to share a story next?”

“Me!” “Me!” “Me!” they all shouted.

Later when the parents came to pick up their cubs nobody wanted to leave, but they had to say their sad goodbyes all the same. Kevin, Jake and Luke stayed behind to tidy up.

“Jacob, thank you so much for helping out today,” Kevin said as Jake handed him the last box.

“Oh I thought it was really interesting,” he replied. “And I've learned a lot.”

Kevin nodded. “Just remember to keep the home fire burning.”

Jake looked thoughtful. “Hey Kevin, can I call you 'Dances With Wolves' now?”

“No.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Jake, there's a package for you!” Amy announced.

“Yay!” He quickly opened it. Packages were dope. “Wow! This is amazing! Ames, come and have a look. This is Smoky Joe's Premium Deluxe Barbecue Tool Set!”

Amy frowned. “I know your tongs are falling apart, but did you really have to order the most expensive set?”

“What? I didn't order anything.” He grabbed her hands. “Trust me, I would never do something like that without consulting you first. We're a team.”

“I know, I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. And you work so hard, you deserve the best tools.” She softly kissed his cheek, and from there on things got a bit heated.

“Ahem,” Amy said at last, “But then, who sent you this?”

“I don't know!”

Amy picked up a note from inside the package. “ _You on fire baby!_ ,” she read.

Jake rolled his eyes. “Doug Judy!”  
  


*

  


“This is from Sharon.” Terry put a pair of barbecue mitts on Jake's desk. “She felt bad about you having cold hands on your balcony.”

Jake picked up the mitts. “Wow, these are great!”

“They're extra long, for protection,” Terry explained. “She did the embroidery herself. The NYPD logo on one side, and the Nine-Nine on the other.”

“This is...This is...” Jake turned the mitts over and over in admiration. “This is...” Suddenly his face lit up. “This is _exactly_ like when the young hero Ethelred received a hand-painted shield from his mentor's lady Griselda the Wise in the Skyfire Cycle Book 2, Chapter 5...”

“...Page 3116!” they said in unison. “ _To shield thee from harm, and fight with honour for thy crest!_ ”  
  


*

  


One day Jake was just walking down the street when a black van stopped next to him with screeching tires and a masked man jumped out, put a bag over his head and threw him in the back. As the van sped on the bag was quickly pulled off his head.

“Pimento?” Jake exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“A little bird told me you want to win the NYPD Annual Barbecue Cookout.”

“Yes. I'll win that trophy or die trying!”

Pimento nodded. “I like your style. But you need help, my friend. We're going to the _barrio_ for an _asado_.”

“We're going to the bar for an...assassin?”

“My God, did Amy teach you nothing? Spanish is so easy, I learned it in a week.”

“I'm trying, okay? _Hola, donde esta la biblioteca? Quiero tu culo._ ”

Pimento slapped his forehead. “Just keep your mouth shut.”

They arrived at a busy street party with loud music and blue and white flags flying everywhere. Pimento greeted some friends in Spanish, and one of them nodded in Jake's direction.

“Who's the _gringo_ , _compadre_?”

“This is Jake.” Pimento then pointed to a burning oil drum. “I will teach him to be a real _asador_.”

They all started laughing, until Pimento pulled a big knife on them. “Don't be racist, okay?”

“Sorry, man.” “Okay, yeah.” “True, that is kinda racist.”

Jake spent the whole night at the grill, as Pimento patiently explained the history and philosophy of the great _asado_ tradition and told him many gory stories about hunting game and butchering cows during his time hiding on a ranch in Argentina. “You have to respect the meat,” he said. “Love the meat. Passionately and tenderly, like a woman.”

Jake frowned. “Are you calling my wife a piece of meat?”

Pimento grabbed him by the shoulders and stared deep into his eyes. “Jake, we are all pieces of meat.”  
  


*

  


“That was so good,” Amy said, licking her lips.

“Only the best for you,” Jake replied, before kissing her passionately and tenderly.

“Oh, wait!” she suddenly exclaimed. She quickly returned and handed him a beautifully wrapped package. “This is for you, babe.”

“But it's not my birthday?”

“No, but I just finished it and I couldn't wait any longer. Plus you need it now.”

Jake carefully opened the package and unfolded a dark blue denim barbecue apron. “Wow! That's so badass! It even has pockets.” He admired the patchwork detail before trying it on. “Did you make this yourself? It's amazing.”

She smiled. “Yes, I made it from my own Levi's. So whenever you wear it I'm hugging you.”

He instantly pulled her close. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“So can I have my present now?” Amy pouted adorably.

“What? I-”

She dragged a finger across his chest. “I see a beautifully wrapped package, right...here. Won't you give it to me, baby?”


	6. Chapter 6

Jake frowned. “Gina just sent me a bunch of numbers.” He showed Amy his phone. “What the hell is this?”

“I think they might be GPS coordinates?”

“ **Friday at 8. Come alone** ,” he read out loud. “I hope she's not in any trouble?”

“Nah, she's just being weird and mysterious.”

On Friday evening Jake cautiously approached a clearing in the woods, gun at the ready. There was a large circle of fire burning in the middle, at the center of which stood a familiar figure. Gina raised her hands invitingly. “Jump in.”

Jake put his gun away. Then he took a leap of faith and jumped through the flames, into the circle.

“Take a seat,” she said after carefully folding her legs on the grass herself.

He sat down opposite her, and they quietly basked in the heat of the surrounding fire. Jake cleared his throat. “So how've you been?”

“Shut your face. Just listen to Mother Nature.”

They sat opposite each other in silence, and Jake tried to concentrate on the sounds of the woods at night and the burning embers slowly falling apart.

Finally Gina spoke. “I have just one question for you.” She held her breath and stared at him. “Are you worthy?”

“What?”

“Are you worthy!” she repeated.

“For what?”

“Are you worthy, Jake? It's a simple question.”

Jake took a deep breath. “Yes, I am worthy.” He felt a strange lump rising up his throat, and swallowed hard.

“Good. Say it again.”

“I am worthy!”

“Now don't start crying, you dweeb.”

“I'm not!” He just felt a bit light-headed.

Gina slowly rose to her feet and motioned for him to follow. Then she took a small jar from her pocket and threw some of the contents onto the hot coals, instantly releasing a strong, spicy smell in the air.

“These are special herbs, for your fire,” she explained as she put the lid back on. “Here, take this. And release your inner goddess.”  
  


*

One day Jake was just walking down the street when a black van stopped next to him with screeching tires and a masked man jumped out, put a bag over his head and threw him in the back.

“Pimento!” Jake exclaimed. “You can just call me, you know.”

“Shut up.”

It wasn't Pimento. Jake swallowed hard. Maybe he was actually in a lot of trouble. 

At last the van stopped, and he was pulled out and roughly guided down a flight of stairs. When they finally took the bag off his head he was standing in a dark, dimly lit basement. A passing subway rattled and shook the building's foundations, and a single light bulb flickered in time. One of the masked, heavily armed goons pointed to a rickety folding chair in the middle of the room. Jake sat down and waited while staring at a big leather armchair in front of him.

“Detective Jake Peralta,” he finally heard, and turned around. He immediately recognized Fat Enzo, one of the biggest mob bosses in New York. And not just physically.

Fat Enzo strolled up and casually leaned against the back of the armchair. “I like how you handled the Iannucis,” he drawled.

“Eh...you're welcome?”

“I hate those guys!” he spat out. “Their meatballs are terrible.”

“Yes, that's what I thought,” Jake agreed. “A bit dry, too much breadcrumb.”

He nodded approvingly. “They use panko, the fools!” Fat Enzo wiped his sweaty brow. “But I didn't bring you here for a friendly chat about our mortal enemies. Let's get down to business.” He idly twiddled his thumbs. “My sources tell me that you want to win the NYPD Annual Barbecue Cookout.”

“Yes, that's correct.” He saw no reason to deny it.

Fat Enzo sat down in his armchair and casually lit a cigar. “Now, it is very important to know where you come from,” he started. “My own great-grandfather was a simple goatherd from Sicily. And you know, one day he was herding goats in the hills of Messina and...”

He proceeded to tell a very long-winded, monotone story, and Jake almost fell asleep twice.

“...and the name of that young _Carabiniere_ was Angelo Peralta.”

Jake started blinking furiously.

“And my great-grandfather vowed that one day the debt would be repaid.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Today is that day.” Fat Enzo snapped his fingers, and a mute butler brought forth a silver platter. He pointed to a tall, slim bottle on the tray. “This is the finest Sicilian tomato sauce, for your marinade. Made from real _Pomodori di Pachino_ grown on the foothills of Mount Etna.” Then he placed a package on the tray. “And a pound of coke, from my best supplier.”

“Ehm...” Jake loudly cleared his throat. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. But most of all for the story.” He took a deep breath. “Now I know where I come from. And I am proud to be a Peralta.”  
  


*

“A pound of coke?” Amy exclaimed. “A pound of coke!”

“Don't worry, I already flushed it. But this tomato sauce is awesome! It's from a volcano, Ames. An active volcano! That is some next-level ketchup.”

She frowned. “You're not seriously going to eat something a mobster gave you?”

“No, of course not. But at least now I know it exists. I'll just throw this out and summon the fiery powers of my ancestral volcano through the astral plane.”

“What?”

“I'll order some more of the stuff online,” he explained. Then he shook his head. “I guess someone must have told him I was doing a ketchup and _coke_ marinade. It's fucking hilarious.”

Amy went to the fridge. “Well, here's the real thing,” she said and poured him a glass.

“Thanks.” He took a big gulp. “Wait!” he suddenly exclaimed. “This is _not_ the real thing.”

“Babe, you know I never buy Pepsi.”

“That's not what I meant.” He grabbed his car keys. “Come with me.”

He took her to a small shop in Williamsburg and grabbed a bottle off the shelf. “Here, this is yellow-cap Coke, still made with the original cane sugar instead of corn syrup. It's only available in Jewish stores around Passover because grains are not considered kosher during this time. So _this_ is the real thing. Just wait until you taste it!”

“Still a fan of the old Coke, eh?” he heard a familiar voice behind him.

Jake turned around. “Rabbi!” he exclaimed, and they embraced like old friends.

“It's so good to see you, Jacob,” the old man said. “Here, let me get that Coke for you.”


	7. Chapter 7

“So I heard you've taken up the gauntlet to dethrone Decker at last?” Detective Dave Majors from the Nine-Three asked in a casual, cool and confident manner.

Jake nodded. “Yes, I'm absolutely determined to win that trophy.”

“Good. I can't stand the smug bastard.” Dave pulled a small box from his pocket. Was he going to propose? “I have a little something for you,” he said while slowly opening the lid.

Jake gasped. “Is that a...?”

“An Irish four-leaf clover, yes. I picked it myself from a field behind my great-great-grandmother's cottage on the windswept crags of _Inis Mór_. It has served me well, but now I want you to have it.”

“Wow, I-”

“Just kidding, I glued it together.” He snapped the box shut. “You don't need luck, man, you got grit.” He patted Jake's shoulder. “But you will need this.” Dave tossed a roll of greenbacks at him and walked away.

“But...I can't accept this!” Jake called after him.

“Too late, sucker.”  
  


*

Steve put down his fork. “This is really good,” he said with a big smile. Roger's old co-pilot from Quebec was in town, and Jake and Amy had invited him to dinner.

Of course Jake had tried out his famous recipe on him, anxious for his opinion. After the positive verdict he proceeded to tell him all about his quest to win the NYPD Annual Barbecue Cookout. “Javi is the best. I've been helping him make sausages in exchange for meat. My Spanish is really improving.”

Steve thoughtfully chewed his food. “You're an excellent shot, right?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah.” There was no need for false modesty.

“I'm going hunting with some friends next weekend. Do you want to come along?”

“Well, sure,” Jake replied. “But I don't have a hunting license. And certainly not for Canada.”

“That's all right. The Attorney General is coming too.”

“Uhm...”

“Just kidding. He's a real stickler, Marie-François. But I'll arrange everything for you, all nice and legal.”

“Okay then. It'll be nice to spend some more time together.”

Steve flew Jake to Quebec himself. Jake contently leaned back in his chair in First Class and reminisced about the time when he could just walk into the cockpit and sit down on Steve's lap. That would be a bit weird now, not to mention impossible. He gratefully accepted a glass of Champagne with compliments of the captain instead. While munching on honey-glazed almonds he remembered how Steve had bought him his first beer, and taught him how to shave, and even attended his graduation. But there was only so much he could do with a large family of his own, in another country. 

After a short flight and a smooth landing they arrived at Jean Lesage International Airport, _Aéroport International Jean-Lesage_. Jake and Steve spent the evening sampling the culinary delights of the city, and the next morning they assembled bright and early at a parking lot in the hills. Steve had just handed him a rifle from the trunk when a big man with a bushy mustache walked up to them.

“Stepháne!” he exclaimed, opening his arms wide.

“Marie!” he replied, and kissed his cheeks. “Good to see you. This is Jake. It's his first hunt.”

Then the other hunters arrived as well, and introductions were made all around. Jake noticed they were all wearing plaid under their camo. It seemed he had found his tribe.

They spent almost the whole morning stalking white-tailed deer across the hillside without any luck, but thankfully a cold drizzle kept things refreshing.

For a long time Steve and Jake were hiding in the underbrush, taking turns peering at a large open field through binoculars. Suddenly Steve started humming softly. He passed his binoculars to Jake and pointed to a magnificent stag in the distance. “That one's yours,” he whispered.

Jake nodded and grabbed his rifle. He carefully trained his scope on the animal. It was still a bit far, but appeared to be moving into his shooting range.

“Look at that noble animal,” Steve said as the stag approached. “Look your meal in the eye. Eating meat is killing meat. Have you made your decision?”

Jake nodded slowly.

“That's Bambi's dad. Are you sure?”

His hands were trembling slightly, and he waited until they stilled. Then he pulled the trigger.

The mighty stag fell.

Steve nodded. “Good. A nice, clean shot. No animal should suffer more than absolutely necessary.”

They quickly made their way towards the stag, and Jake knelt down to stroke the still-warm neck of the life he took.

Steve lightly brushed its nose. “To live an honest life you must take full responsibility for your actions.”

The other hunters arrived and congratulated him on his first kill. Then Steve took out his hunting knife and opened the belly. He smeared his bloody hands on Jake's cheeks while the other hunters cheered. Then he removed the heart and held it out to Jake. “Here, eat it.”

“What?”

“Eat it!”

“Eat it!” the other hunters repeated. “Eat it!” “Eat it!” “Eat it!” they chanted.

Jake grabbed the heart and bit into it. Blood gushed down his chin and all over his arms. He chewed down the heart while the hunters started shouting in their own incomprehensible language, while beating on drums and loudly stomping their feet. He finally finished swallowing the whole deer heart. “AAAAAAAAAAAH!” he screamed from the top of his lungs.

“What's wrong?” Amy asked.

He clutched his pillow. “Nothing. I just...had a nightmare.”

Amy frowned. “About what?”

Jake shivered. “Canadians.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Your brothers can eat so much,” Jake said as he dragged a heavy cooler across the Santiagos' lawn. “It's amazing!”

David pursed his lips. “Actually I am limiting my intake of red meat, because-”

“Jake!” Victor called. “Come into the kitchen.”

Jake put the cooler down and cautiously entered the sanctuary. Camila looked up and closely scrutinized him. The silence was deafening.

Victor put a hand on his shoulder. “Camila, show him the _mojo_.”

“Are you sure, _mi amor_? Is he ready for such knowledge?”

Victor nodded. “Yes, he is ready. I vouch for him.”

“All right.” She went to fridge and took out a small bottle that she held up to Jake. “First, you need the juice of the _naranja agria_.”

Jake diligently worked under Camila's guidance and made his first batch of Cuban _mojo_.

“And now you taste,” she said.

“Oh wow, that is delicious! This is the _perfect_ sauce.”

“ _Bueno_ ,” she agreed.

Victor smiled. “You are a Santiago now, son.”  
  


*

One afternoon Holt called Jake into his office. He sat down behind his desk and took off his glasses. “So I heard from Terry that you need a special type of charcoal for this Japanese _shichirin_ grill?”

“Yes, not normal briquettes but those hardwood lumps that don't leave a lot of ash.”

Holt nodded. “Can you meet me early next Saturday at my place?”

“Sure.”

That Saturday Holt opened the front door and frowned. “You call this early?”

“Yes. So, are we going to the special secret charcoal store?”

Holt stared at him. “No, we're not going to _buy_ charcoal, we are going to _make_ charcoal.”

“Oh okay. Cool cool cool cool cool.”

“ _Au contraire_. It's going to be quite hot.”

“No doubt no doubt no doubt.”

Holt led the way into the backyard.

“So where's the wood?” Jake asked. “Let's fire it up!”

Holt grabbed an axe from the shed. “First we have to cut down a tree.”

“All right...”

Holt pointed to a large American oak in the corner of the garden. “That one.” He handed Jake a long, two-handed saw. “Let's get to work.”

First they made a wedge-shaped incision in the side of the tree, and then started sawing toward it from the other side of the trunk. It was hard work, and Jake was sweating copiously. They took a quick break for lunch and Holt served delicious croque-monsieurs. He explained that Kevin was not at home, as he was busy giving first aid at a reenactment of the Battle of Thermopylae. After lunch they continued sawing. When they'd almost reached the incision the tree slowly started falling toward the lawn. Holt grabbed Jake, and they watched in awe as the tree crashed to the ground with a loud thump. They felt the ground shaking beneath their feet.

“Woohoo!” Jake exclaimed. “We felled a tree! That was awesome!”

Holt nodded. “And now it has to dry for three years.”

“What!”

“Don't worry.” He pointed to a neatly arranged wood stack at the side of the house. “Here's one I prepared earlier.”

Jake sighed. “Great.”

“Wise men plant trees in whose shade they will never sit.”

They dug a big, deep fire pit and started a good blaze. As Jake fed more wood to the fire Holt put garlic potatoes in foil between the burning embers, and buried a Dutch oven with raisin bread under the hot coals.

“Marshmallows are frivolous,” he declared, apropos of nothing.

After a good, starchy meal they put more wood on the fire to turn into charcoal. The flames leapt higher and higher until they had created a veritable inferno. Jake threw another big log on the fire and proudly looked over at Holt, who nodded. Then they covered the whole pit in earth and grassy sods to cut off the oxygen. Smoke was pouring out through the soil into the cool night air.

At last Holt put the shovels back in the shed and returned with a bottle and two glasses. “It will take until morning. We should keep an eye on the pit for a while though.”

Jake nodded and they sat down on their tree trunk. Holt opened the bottle of scotch and poured him a glass. “It's quite smoky. I thought that was apt.”

Jake took a big gulp and started coughing. “Yes. Man, I'd love to go to...” He looked at the bottle. “...Bunnahabhain.”

Holt put down his glass. “You know, I've always thought that one of the great advantages of being gay was that you can't accidentally acquire children.”

Jake nodded. “Very handy, yeah.”

“That is, until you came into my life,” he continued. “And although I thought I wasn't prepared, that I wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility, all of that suddenly didn't matter anymore and I just resolved to do the best I could.”

“And you did. You did more than your best. You always went the extra mile. I can't think of a better dad than you.”

“Thank you, Jake. And I just want to say that even though you may have your own doubts on this score, I don't. I know you'll make a great father. Just like you're a great son, a great husband, and a great detective.”

Jake smiled. “And a great barbecue champion.”

“The greatest.”


	9. Chapter 9

“I think it's going to rain,” Charles said worriedly on the day of the NYPD Annual Barbecue Cookout.

“No, of course not,” Jake assured him.

But it did. It rained and it rained and it rained.

“Here's my waterproof matches, Jakey,” Hitchcock said after upending half his desk drawers.

“And my Frozen umbrella,” Scully added.

“Eh...thanks.” Jake looked at his phone and sighed. “The Cookout has been canceled.”

“What!”

“Can't they reschedule it?”

“Yeah, I'm just...No! They've moved it to tomorrow!”

“But the mayor is visiting the Nine-Nine tomorrow,” Amy said worriedly.

“I know. And we really need that extra funding...”

“What's going on here?” Holt asked.

Jake quickly explained the situation.

“Well I think I can give Detective Peralta leave to go to the Cookout, but the rest of you will have to stay here to meet the mayor.”  
  


*

“How did it go?” “Tell us!” “Did you win, Jakey?”

Jake sighed. “Well, as a wise man once said - I forgot his name, but Amy told me - the journey is the reward. So it doesn't really matter if I won or lost, because this has been an incredibly rewarding journey in which I've learned so much from all of you. But what happened was, Decker from the Nine-Seven started telling me this story about a headless corpse and...JUST KIDDING I TOTALLY WON! NINE-NINE!”

**Postscript**

“I'm ready, Ames. I am _so_ ready.”


	10. Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stories matter, and AO3 is our campfire. And you know what else we do around the fire...

**  
The Heat Is On – Glenn Frey  
Let It Be – The Beatles  
Smells Like Teen Spirit – Nirvana   
The Best – Tina Turner  
Big in Japan – Alphaville  
I See Fire – Ed Sheeran  
Hot in Herre – Nelly  
The Old Ways – Loreena McKennit  
Rosa Rosa – Sandro  
Dress You Up – Madonna   
That I Would Be Good – Alanis Morisette  
Brucia la Terra (The Earth is Burning) – Andrea Bocelli  
The Real Thing – 2 Unlimited   
Galway Bay – Johnny Cash   
Eye of the Tiger – Survivor  
Mi Tierra (My Country) – Gloria Estefan  
My Father's Eyes – Eric Clapton  
We Are Family – Sister Sledge**

“I'll win this trophy, even if it's the last thing I do!”

“You just got to take the sour with the sweet.”

“It does not do well to dwell on the past.”

“I can tell you things. You're my friend.”

“You just have to learn to let go, and move on.”

“See if you can light the spark.”

“You on fire baby!”

“To shield thee from harm, and fight with honour for thy crest.”

“Passionately and tenderly, like a woman.”

“So whenever you wear it I'm hugging you.”

“Release your inner goddess.”

“It is very important to know where you come from.”

“Still a fan of the old Coke, eh?”

“You don't need luck, man, you got grit.”

“Look your meal in the eye.”

“You are a Santiago now, son.”

“I know you'll make a great father.”

“I've learned so much from all of you.”

  



End file.
